


Start Over at the Beginning

by candle_beck



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-10
Updated: 2011-08-10
Packaged: 2017-10-22 11:51:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/237723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candle_beck/pseuds/candle_beck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe things will be different this year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Start Over at the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted February 2004.

Start Over At The Beginning   
By Candle Beck

And we get back here, we get back to Phoenix, we find each other in the desert again, and we say, hey.

And we say, how you feelin’, bud?

And we say, when did you get in, did you drive down?

And we say, how was your winter, mine sucked.

And we say, you shoulda come over to my house for Thanksgiving, we blew the place down, had this massive food fight, it was a killer time.

And we say, oh yeah, tell your mom I said hi too.

And we say, your hair’s too long, dude, you look like a frat boy.

And we say, nah, nah, I’m winning twenty-five games this year, minimum.

And we say, fifty bucks on who strikes out Giambi the most times, same as last season?

And we say, yeah, I know, it’s weird that he’s not here anymore, but he’ll be all right, they were lucky to get him, he deserves more than he was making here.

And we say, I’m buying tonight.

And we say, has it always been this fucking dry down here, I can barely breathe, hey, gimme a knock of your water.

And we say, no shit, you got a view, my room faces the parking lot, that’s so unfair.

And we say, what’s the name of that place we got the good nachos at last year?

And we say, fuck, my arm feels like rubber.

And we say, didn’t there used to be more stars out here?

And we say, you look good, man, healthy.

And we say, hey rook, welcome to the team, run and get me a Coke, willya, yeah, the new guy always treats, what, you didn’t know that?

And we say, she’s looking at you, she’s totally checking you out, you should go for it.

And we say, I was on a rooftop in North Beach for New Year’s, yeah, I saw the fireworks, could you see them too?

And we say, it’s a little depressing that today’s Valentine’s Day and I’m hanging out with you punks.

And we say, where’d you get those shoes, they’re cool.

And we say, dude, you got the twenty bucks you owe me?

And we say, here, you can have half.

And we say, is your new glove gonna be broke in by the time the games start?

And we say, fucking off-season.

And we say, yeah, we’re definitely going to Mexico this year, once the rest of the guys get down, no, I’m serious, it’s happening this time, no doubt.

And we say, is that the same girl at the front desk from last spring who had a crush on you?

And we say, I’m not drunk, *you’re* drunk.

And we say, did you see his face, too fucking funny.

And we say, nah, man, I didn’t forget, it’s only been four months, what do you take me for?

And we say, nothing the Yankees do surprises me anymore.

And we say, I’m gonna call him and make sure he brings down my CDs he borrowed like half a year ago.

And we say, shit, I forgot to pack that.

And we say, does he look different to you, he looks different to me.

And we say, fuck, where did you learn how to throw that?

And we say, we can’t just short-sheet his bed, that’s like the lamest hazing ever, what is this, summer camp?

And we say, yeah, the road trip was bomb, you wouldn’t believe how blue the sky is in Idaho, fucking gorgeous, man.

And we say, no, I’m not tired, you tired?

And we say, shotgun.

And we say, you’re such a spaz, dude.

And we say, it’s good to be back.

And we say, lemme borrow this, I’ll get it back to you tomorrow, I swear.

And we say, what time are you waking up tomorrow, you wanna head out to the ballpark together?

And we say, I love this song.

And we say, smile pretty, boys.

And we say, wait up.

And we say, that’s what you’re having for breakfast?

And we say, play’s at first, two down now.

And we say, I never know what to do in November.

And we say, yeah, I missed you, bro, yeah.

And we say, this year, this year, all the way, man, this year nobody’s gonna stop us.

* * *

Out in Arizona, here where there’s nothing in the world bigger than the sky at night, we’re going back, we’re old school, we’re relearning all the stuff we know by heart, the desert and the game and each other, we’re getting there, out in Arizona our arms hurt for the first week or two, and we get too drunk too fast, having gotten out of the habit of drinking like ballplayers, out in Arizona you can hear us calling each other down the hotel hallway, and packs of us go stumbling out past midnight to the Circle-K down the road to get candy and Gatorade and sunflower seeds, feeling all of fifteen years old and high-school brave, out in Arizona we swim in the hotel pool and talk about the ocean, we try to watch the Suns play basketball but keep getting bored and watch the Simpsons instead, out in Arizona we keep count of rattlesnakes and vultures, squint against the unreal sun and talk about life on Mercury, we all get burned before we tan, and for some of us, our hair lightens, gets gold and copper and bronze, and there’s always dirt under our nails and grass stains on our hands, out in Arizona we play baseball every day and can’t stop grinning, because out in Arizona it’s baseball season again, and this is all we’ve been waiting for.

Do you remember this, do you remember the hum of muscles returning to strength, do you remember the hop-skip of a comebacker punching up the dust, does your arm move without thinking, does your body dive by instinct after a short pop foul, do you find yourself flying, stretched out over the line, do you remember that smooth turn to second for the double play, does your hand really move that fast when you catch a liner barehanded just before it breaks your nose, do you remember the gritty crunch of dirt beneath your spikes, the give of the rubber as you dig in, do you remember the signs, do you remember to check the runner, do you remember to back up first on the throw from center, do you remember this, could you ever forget this?

Do you remember the sunlight, flat and dry and wide, washing across the valley, drawing out the long ancient colors of orange and red, pounding the land like metal on stone, do you remember how endless everything is out here, how epic, do you remember feeling heroic as your shadow stretches on the ground, do you remember thinking that you could spend your forty years wandering in the desert and never want to leave?

Do you remember their faces, their voices, how they laugh, do you remember the names you call each other, the complicated handshakes, their easy smiles in the dugout and parking lot, do you remember the close way you travel together, do you remember the way it sounds when you’re all talking over each other, threads of conversation colliding and twining, running one into another, do you remember what it’s like to look around the table and see them all together again, do you remember the hook of their eyebrows, the stutters and slurs, the words they always pronounce wrong, their quick winks when they pull you in on their joke, the sharp flash of their grins, do you remember what it’s like to be surrounded by your brothers, did you really spend four months without these guys?

Oh, it’s come back, it’s all come back, and we have left behind the cold, the gray skies and the rough black of the highway, we have made it through another winter, we have been praying for spring, because in spring, anything is possible.

* * *

And not everything is the same, of course. We are missing some, getting to know others, and we are making friends with the new guys and drunk-dialing the old guys, haranguing them for betraying us, though we know that no one leaves the team voluntarily, and we’re all worth more than we’re being paid, because Billy Beane can see the future, and none of us will be here forever, but we can’t imagine a better team, a better group of guys, and all we want is to rush the field in October, all we want is the explosion and the slam of light and sound, all we want is to tackle each other and fall into a wild screaming joyous mess of arms and legs at the moment when our last dream, our first dream, has come true, all we want is to be the best in the world.

And then it probably won’t be so hard to leave them, but we might end up looking for this team for the rest of our careers, wherever we play, and we wonder if it would really be a good thing for the best time of our lives to be when we’re twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, so young and with decades left, all downhill from here on out, but because we are twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, we end up not caring about the rest of our lives so much, we end up not caring about anything else but this perfect day.

It’s not the same, but it’s close enough.

* * *

Maybe things will be different this year. Maybe we’ll reach the second round. Maybe we shouldn’t be thinking about the playoffs in February. Maybe it’s bad luck. But maybe our bad luck is over. Maybe it’s not fair to be bitter about getting knocked out early, because we still make the postseason, more than most other teams can say.

Maybe we’ll win twenty-one games in a row this year. Break our own record. Maybe we’ll win thirty and break everyone’s record.

Maybe we’ll never lose.

It could happen. Anything could happen. It’s in the nature of the game.

Maybe somebody’ll get married, maybe somebody’ll have a kid. Maybe someone will fall in love, maybe we all will.

 

Maybe we’ll be surprised by some rookie who comes out of nowhere, streaks to the top, of course we will, that happens every year.

Maybe the summer will never end.

Maybe we’ll look at each other like never before, maybe we’ll see something new, maybe we’re brothers now but maybe we’ll be something more by the time the pennant is close enough to taste, close enough to touch, maybe we’re brothers now, but that doesn’t mean that’s how we’ll stay, and even if we do, that’ll be okay, because we’ll still be brothers.

* * *

Hey, three in the morning, and you look tired, man.

Eight o’clock at night, getting lost trying to find the good Tex-Mex place out in Peoria by the training center, and you look happy and confused.

Nine in the morning, slouching against the wall waiting for the bus to show up, and you look half-asleep but not too hungover.

Two in the afternoon, and that’s the seventh strikeout in a row, and you look ungodly up there.

Eleven minutes after eleven, and we’re making wishes, and you look like you know exactly what you want.

Six o’clock in the evening, talking about what we’re going to do tonight, and you look lazy and well-rested.

Ten in the morning, warming up in the bullpen, and you look sharp, velocity and pinpoint control and cutting movement, you look good today.

Seven minutes past midnight, sitting on the bumper of a car that doesn’t belong to us, waiting for the meteor shower to begin, and you look like the reason that the stars are falling to earth.

* * *

We’re gonna tell each other stuff, we’re gonna make up stories, we’re gonna get halfway through a joke before realizing that we’ve forgotten how it ends, we’re gonna reach that point when memories catch up with the future, we’re gonna confuse each other and not make much sense, but we’re used to that.

We’re gonna be sitting around on the hotel’s patio some night and everything’s gonna get profound, and we’re gonna say stuff we won’t repeat in the full light of day, stuff that might not even be true in the full light of day, because the truth is different in the middle of the night.

We’re gonna use up all the words we’ve ever known, and we’re gonna have to find some new way to tell each other things.

* * *

Last thing at night and first thing in the morning, it’s been baseball all winter, but now it’s you, and this always happens.

It’ll be harder, this year, maybe, to keep on the right side of the line, to keep away, because this year we missed each other more than we admitted, and we’re keeping secrets, and we’re talking about heaven and unassisted triple plays, and we’re not letting on, we’re not giving anything away.

It’ll be harder, this year, because we are better than we remembered.

* * *

And come right down to it, come right down.

We have the game, we have the desert, we have each other, and nothing can touch us now, nothing.

And what do you think is going to happen? And will any of it be as good as what we have dreamed? Will it be better?

Talk in between words, take your time in the silences, use your hands and your face, we can hear the things that aren’t being said, because we already know it, this is something we’ve always known.

And do you think it will be a good year?

It’s baseball season again, man. It’s time to start over at the beginning.

THE END


End file.
